


Confession

by Winklepicker



Series: Kylux Congeries [3]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Priest Hux, Priests, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:59:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16735803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winklepicker/pseuds/Winklepicker
Summary: Kylo sins while he confesses





	Confession

Father Armitage rolled the beads of his rosary, propping his forehead on his hand as he muttered prayers for the last penitent. He asked forgiveness for his own impatience to go home, to his thin cold cot. A cheeky dram of whiskey perhaps, and the next chapter of _A Feast for Crows_ to send him to his slumber. 

The door of the booth opened and clicked closed. A silhouette, mosaicked by the screen between them, shifted in the dim light.

He suppressed a sigh and waited for the silence to break, his bed and rest farther out of reach. Some people needed a moment, others needed a jump start for their courage. It seemed this was the latter.

“Do you wish to confess, my child?”

There was an intake of breath, a rustling. He waited.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” said a deep voice, rich as syrup and devastating as comet tails. A voice Hux knew. A voice he recognized bone deep. “It’s been a week since my last confession.”

Hux hung his head, closed his eyes. His blood hissed with want while every one of his teachings screamed denial. That twice-damned voice and his thrice-damned Pavlovian response to it. He chewed at his lips and hoped his own voice would stay the distance for at least a single sentence. 

“What is it you wish to confess?” He knew, just as he knew what every inch of the sinner tasted like. 

“I had impure thoughts, Father.” A heaving sigh of a breath. “And I defiled my flesh to these impure thoughts.” The breaths grew faster. 

Hux knew he shouldn’t say it. He really shouldn’t. 

He did. 

“Go on.”

“I tried, Father, to do as you told me. I tried to resist but I couldn’t stop myself.”

He really really shouldn’t.

“Tell me about these thoughts, my child?”

Was that a whimper? Was it hot in here? Had his collar always been this tight? 

“I think of you, Father.”

Well, he _had_ asked. He tugged at his collar. Sweat beaded on the small of his back, behind his knees. 

“I think of your skin under my hands, the way it goose-pimples when I brush my fingertips over it. How warm it is. The slip and stink of the sweat between our bodies. I think of the taste of you on my tongue, how you fill my mouth. The feeling of your hands in my hair, of you stretching me open. I think of all that father and I touch myself, though you told me not to.”

Hux’s voice had long since abandoned him for safer pastures. His breaths heaved as he tried to stay silent, his hand clapped over his mouth. Until he realised the ragged breaths he was hearing weren’t his. And beneath those another sound, rhythmic and wet, the loud click of a dry throated swallow.

Hux’s veins thrummed, pulsed between his legs, made soft silky flesh swell thick and grow long—pressing against his pants and the folds of his cassock. He slapped his palm against the screen and whispered, “Please.”

“I’ve been lying as well, Father.”

Hux leaned his temple against the screen. “Go on,” he whispered.

“I used the past tense,” there was a long sighing moan, “I should have said I am touching myself. Can you hear my sin, Father? Can you teach me to be a good boy?” 

“Jesus wept!” 

“Blasphemy!”

“Fuck you, Kylo Ren,” Hux rolled his head against the cold screen, his voice a harsh croak.

“Yes, please.” Kylo huffed a laugh and slammed his hand against the grate, scratched down the laced pattern in the iron. “Please, here, now?”

The sound of slapping skin was louder now, frantic with Kylo’s ragged breaths.

“You know the answer to that.”

“I know,” Kylo grunted. He aborted a yell, biting his hand as he came. The confessional rattled when his back slammed against the thin wooden walls.

Hux buried his face in his hands, listening to the shuffling, the zipping, as Kylo cleaned himself up and tuck himself away. The damp dark of his hands was an oasis of calm. He wanted to stay there, hunched like a gargoyle and achingly hard, hoping for the kindness of an empty sacristy to change into his street clothes. When the silence had gone too long he looked up. Kylo's face was pressed against the grate.

“Made you look,” he whispered, then chuckled. “I’ll see you at home, Father.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bless me for I have no idea how Catholicism works.


End file.
